Page 15 of Silver Fox Puck

A flicker of memory hits me. Somewhere between tangled sheets and breathless laughter, I’d felt his fingers trail down my spine, his voice lower than usual, quieter.

What’s your name?

I hadn’t hesitated. Not then. Maybe because his mouth had been on my throat, or maybe because it hadn’t felt like breaking the rules when he was the one asking.

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders back like I can shake off the unsettling ripple under my skin. “I should go.”

For a second, I think he’s going to let me. For a second, he just watches me, like he’s considering whether I actually mean it.

Then he adds, “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

It’s a challenge to see if I’ll stay. Sussing me out. I grit my teeth and say with fake sweetness in contrast to my words, “Because you’re full of yourself?”

A low hum. Not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. Just pure amusement.

I push down the strange twist in my stomach, hating that he’s making me want to jump back into bed with him. Hating that I can’t tear my eyes off his broad, muscled chest.

I nod toward the key card still sitting on the nightstand. “Don’t worry, Silver Fox. The door locks behind me.” I pause. “No strings.”

His eyes flick to the card, then back to me, something unreadable passing through them before he leans back against the pillows, his smirk slow and knowing.

He doesn’t blink. Just watches as I finally turn the handle and step into the hall.

I don’t let myself look back. I don’t let myself think about the fact that I wanted to stay.

That wasn’t the deal. This was just one night. Whatever that look in his eyes was when he said my name—it doesn’t matter.

I slip my shoes on as gracefully as I can. Then I walk. One foot in front of the other. Even when I can still feel the ghost of his gaze on me long after the door closes between us.

I keep my pace steady and chin lifted. I look calm, in control. I should feel good about that. Proud, even.

No messy goodbyes. No lingering stares. No complications.

Just like I wanted.

So why does it feel like my lungs are tight? Like the air is thinner out here? I exhale slowly, zipping my dress as best as I can while I press the call button for the elevator. This was supposed to be easy.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the lobby. I don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess myself—until I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall.

My dress is slightly wrinkled, the zipper still half-undone. My hair is a tangled mess of waves, proof of just how thoroughly I let myself fall apart last night.

And my lips—swollen. Kiss-bruised. My stomach tightens, a fresh pulse of heat flickering low.

I let my head tip back against the elevator wall and squeeze my eyes shut. Stop thinking about it. Stop feeling it.

The doors open with a soft chime. I force my feet forward. Out of the elevator, out of the moment, out of his orbit.

Almost there. I step into the lobby, crossing toward the exit when—

“Did you get what you wanted, Flight?”

I stop.

Barely.

The heat in my chest turns sharp, my fingers clenching against my palm as I force myself to breathe through it.

Slowly, I turn my head.

---